The Beatles at Scotland Yard
by Doctor Lennon 007
Summary: Just a little bit of nonsense involving the Beatles at Scotland Yard. Could be expanded into a much larger fanfic if I wanted to, but I honestly don't think I'm ever going to. So it's just a bit of comic relief. THIS IS A BEATLES FIC! DID NOT KNOW WHERE ELSE TO PUT IT! Characters: John L., Paul McC., George H., and Ringo S.
1. Chapter 1

**I DON'T OWN THE BEATLES!**

**If I did, John and George would never have mucked up Let It Be with Phil Spector. Ah well, can always go back in the TARDIS and change that later.**

**But now, I'm sure you'd rather read this than listen to me babble incoherently. Oh wait, that's what this entire fanfic is.**

* * *

Three Beatles walked into the Scotland Yard waiting room jauntily. Paul was trying to find a place to park, so he was planning on coming in later.

The other three went over to the receptionist's desk.

"Hello!" said John cockily.

"Do you have an appointment?" asked the secretary.

"We're the Beatles," said Ringo, as though that explained everything. The receptionist looked at them suspiciously.

"I thought there were _four_ of you," he said hesitantly.

"Nah, it's just us," said George with a grin.

"Ah . . . so this is Mr. Harrison's appointment?" the secretary asked.

"No, my name's Lennon," said John, sounding peeved.

"I don't see a Lemon here," said the secretary, flipping back through his date book.

"I don't either," said Ringo. "I think I'd notice one of those great yellow things on your datebook, too."

"I'm Mr. Harrison," said George quickly, before the conversation got too derailed.

"Ah, of course," said the relieved receptionist. Then he gestured to John and Ringo, obviously forgetting that the Beatles were a band, and asked, "Are they family?"

"No," replied George.

"Oh, are they friends then?"

"No."

"Well, who are they then?" asked the receptionist, who was quite understandably becoming quickly annoyed.

"They're my trained monkeys, who else?" George deadpanned.

"O-o A-a," said Ringo helpfully.

"Oh, well then, erm . . . I'll call Mr. Campbell's office, let him know you're here, um . . . just have a seat until he calls you up . . . I guess your monkeys can sit too - I mean . . . ," replied the flustered receptionist

"Thank you," said George, who promptly sat down, with John and Ringo on either side. George paused, and then turned to John, and said, "Monkey, go fetch me a cup of tea."

Apparently George had overstepped his limits as a monkey trainer, because John put his hands on his hips and began to shriek loudly, waving his elbows back and forth like he was about to fly away. Jane Goodall would have died in shock at his monkey impression. Meanwhile Ringo tried to disassociate himself from the action somewhat, instead occupying himself by searching for bugs in George's hair while simultaneously scratching his armpit. It didn't appear to be an easy task. The receptionist's complexion changed colour several times before settling on a delicate shade of green.


	2. Chapter 2

Enter Paul wearing a bowler hat and false beard - his disguise for the day.

"'Ello there, midgit," he said in a low voice, approaching the receptionist desk.

"A-and, your name?" asked the receptionist timidly.

"Scurvy, s-c-u-r-v-y, Knave, n-n-o-a-i-v-e-e," said Paul gruffly. "You hear that? SCURVY KNAVE!" These last two words were bellowed at the top of his lungs. The receptionist flinched.

"Eerm, who are you here to see then, Mr., er, Knave," asked the receptionist. He was trying to stop himself from trembling at the malevolent snarl which rested on Paul's lips.

"My parole officer," growled Paul

"Uh, the p-parole officers aren't in this bu-building, sir," replied the receptionist. He didn't know why, but it seemed right to address this formidable former convict as "sir."

"WHAT WAS THAT?!" bellowed Paul, putting his hands up in front of him and making fists in a really fairly bad imitation of a boxer. The receptionist turned a deeper shade of green and sank further back into his chair, trying to make himself as small as possible so there was less of a target.

"H-have a seat," he mumbled. "You can g-go on up at five till three . . . ."

Paul sat down, mollified but still growling. How Paul with his baby face had managed to terrify the receptionist was a mystery.


	3. Chapter 3

Meanwhile, John was still shrieking at George, and Ringo was munching on a banana he had found who-knows-where.

"Sorry," said George to the receptionist as he gestured at John. "I haven't finished training him yet, he's a very strong-willed one. I think it comes from having three goldbacks in the family."

"Three _what_?" asked the receptionist, though he was fairly confident that he didn't want to know.

"You know, the social rank above a silverback," said George with a wolfish grin. The receptionist excused himself, muttering something about the loo and wondering if his day could possibly get any worse. The moment he reached the restroom, he fainted dead away on the tile floor.

At five till three, all four Beatles got up and went upstairs to Mr. Campbell's office. Paul had removed the beard but was still wearing the bowler hat, which John had said was quite a fashion statement.

Ringo raised his fist to knock on the door, but John pushed it open before Ringo's fist hit the wood. John strolled in, seeming very much at home in the sumptuously decorated study. Campbell looked up in some alarm, but relaxed when he saw John's mop top. That was his first mistake. John was closely followed by the other three Beatles, and Paul shut the door.

"So, you're the Beatles," said Campbell, with slight distain.

"So, you're Mr. _Campbell_," said John with quite a lot of obvious distain, which Campbell chose to ignore.

"And you are Mr. Harrison," said Campbell, looking at George.

"I think so," replied George, looking down at himself thoughtfully.


	4. Chapter 4

"So how's your investigation going?" asked Paul as he scanned Campbell's bookshelves.

"It's going quite well," said Campbell as he slapped John's hand away, which had been surreptitiously creeping toward the papers on Campbell's desk.

"So what've you been doing, then?" asked Ringo curiously as he sat down in Campbell's leather armchair.

"We've got people calling everyone who had a ticket to your concert. Of course, if the criminal didn't have a ticket . . . ."

"How could he have gotten in if he didn't have a ticket?" asked Paul.

"You can't possibly ask me to fathom a criminal's mind," pointed out Campbell.

"Oh, I could definitely ask _you _to fathom a _criminal's_ mind," said John snarkily, but Campbell held his composure and ignored John.

"Well, you don't have to call everyone on the list," said George. "After all, I told you that he was short."

"Ah, but everyone there was short. They were mostly fourteen- and thirteen-year-old girls. But did you notice that the assassin was male? I notice you use the masculine pronoun," said Campbell.

"No, I didn't, I wasn't looking to see if he had a dick," said George, annoyed.

"Considering what happened, I'm surprised you didn't notice anything other that his height," said Campbell.

"Considering what happened, I was too bloody busy getting stabbed to notice anything!" snapped George.

"Yet it couldn't have been too bad; you managed to play a set afterword," pointed out Campbell.

"And he was in the hospital for a week," said Ringo indignantly. "If it isn't a big deal, why are you putting so much effort into investigating it?"


	5. Chapter 5

"_Anyroad_," said Paul, trying to ease the tension, "I don't think most of your suspects could've been the criminal."

Ringo, George, and Campbell stared at him. John was too busy messing with Campbell's perpetual motion machine to notice anything anyone said.

"Well, they were almost all fourteen-year-olds! A fourteen-year-old would've tried to strangle George with lingerie, not stab him," said Paul sensibly.

"I know what we should do!" said John, looking up from the perpetual motion machine with a wicked grin on his face. George and Ringo exchanged an _uh-oh_ look as Campbell and Paul eyed John dubiously.

"What should we do?" asked Ringo with a sigh.

"We should just ban everyone in London from ice cream for a week!" exclaimed John. "That way, we're bound to punish the real criminal a little!"

"I don't think that's a good idea, John," said Paul.

John gasped. "Scoundrel! Have at thee, coward!" he yelped as he drew his comb from his back pocket. With their famous hairdos, every Beatle had an omnipresent comb.

"The name's Knave!" screamed Paul as he also drew out his comb. "I accept the challenge!"

The two began to fence around Campbell's office. John yelled out the name of every move he made: "Parry! Thrust! Owld Boot!"

Campbell looked momentarily stunned.


	6. Chapter 6

"How about you just go door-to-door to the adult audience and see how tall they are?" suggested George to Campbell.

"We can't spare the money," said Campbell dismissively.

"Is this the list?" asked Ringo, holding up a piece of paper from Campbell's desk.

"Yes," said Campbell as he took the paper from Ringo's hand and replaced it on the desk. "And no, you can't have a copy, it's confidential Scotland Yard paperwork."

George rolled his eyes behind Campbell's back.

"Hang on," said Ringo to Campbell. "Can we have protection?"

"Protection?" asked Campbell incredulously. George grabbed a heavy dictionary from Campbell's shelves and handed it to Campbell. Campbell set it down on the desk.

"Yeah," said Ringo. "I mean, this person tried to kill George before, why won't he again?"

"You seem to be able to protect yourselves just fine," said Campbell disdainfully, eyeing John and Paul's comb fencing. Just then, John and Paul knocked over and broke a big, glass vase.

Campbell gasped. "That was sixteenth-century Venetian glass!" he yelled as he advanced on John and Paul, who both held up their combs as a defense against Campbell's wrath. As Campbell was occupied, George grabbed the list from Campbell's desk and shoved it into his pocket as he winked at Ringo.

"I reckon we're ready to go now," said George to the other Beatles. John and Paul ran around Campbell and followed George and Ringo out the door. As they left the reception area, the newly-returned receptionist saw them coming and ducked under his desk.


End file.
